


kiss me (as if it's your last breath)

by orphan_account



Series: And Not Even Gods Can Destroy (Our Love) [2]
Category: Iron Man (Movies), Iron Man - All Media Types, The Avengers (2012), Thor (Movies)
Genre: ...sorta, Angst, But As We Can See, I Don't Even Know, I'm Sorry, M/M, Mild Angst, POV: 2nd Person, POV: Tony Stark, Really...I Don't, Series: ANEGC, Some Vague Shit, Someone Give Tony A Hug, Supposedly Fluff, That's Not Happening, The Author Regrets Nothing, This Is Why We Can't Have Nice Things, Tony Feels, Tony Stark Feels, Tony Stark Needs a Hug, Unbeta'd, Vague Kissing, Vague Mentions of Kissing, Weird Ass Metaphors, Well...more life, but not really
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-05-05
Updated: 2013-05-05
Packaged: 2017-12-10 11:34:03
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 467
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/785606
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <em>In which the things that we believe are just not real. In which tears are shed, words are said and unsaid, and kisses are shared as if tomorrow and yesterday never existed. In which kisses are left to break and rebuild, and really....that's nothing short of lovely.</em>
</p>
            </blockquote>





	kiss me (as if it's your last breath)

**Author's Note:**

> I told y'all there'd be a sequel. Honestly, I didn't expect to have done this much in such a short amount of time, but the muse just wouldn't leave me alone and I'm not really complaining. I apologize for turning these prompts into something less than sexual and more angst driven. I do, however, promise that it will pick up and the angst will eventually fade into something miniscule, if at all. I also doubt this series will be done even after I go through all the 30 Day prompts because not all the prompts will fall under this series. Also, if you have a prompt or request for me, [click here](http://xlix-prompts.tumblr.com/).
> 
> Also, don't forget to hover over links things to see translations.

Sometimes when Tony spent a bit too longer staring or touching someone's hand, he'd drift off into his own thoughts; the memories of pale and elegant hand and he'd find himelf drowning in a flash flood of how much he missed and _needed_ those hands again. But those times were nothing in comparison to when Tony's eyes lingered on someone's lips. Because those were the times when he found himself under the urges of needing the press of slight chill against his lips. So he stopped staring at people when he spoke to them. He stopped touching and searching and _wanting_ that he pulled himself into a slightly reclusive state of being.  
  
He noticed the looks he'd get from those around him, especially Pepper and Rhodey and his team, but he chose to ignore them. He'd grab himself a glass of his fine scotch and make his way to balcony, the chill of the wind enveloping him and reminding of what he missed and craved stimultaneously. He'd shiver slightly and close his eyes, tilt his head back, and pray to Gods that he didn't ( _couldn't_ ) believe him to bring him back the only sense of happiness he managed to find in his short life.  
  
But that was a lost cause because the dead are just that... _dead_ and resurrection is such a far stretch for the imagination that he hadn't bothered truly even amusing that thought for too long.  
  
Sometimes when Tony had no choice but to stare at someone as they spoke and his gaze fell down to their lips on its own accord, his face would fall ever so slightly and the masks would fit back into place almost immediately (and if anyone noticed how cracked the mask actually was, they never said a thing). Sometimes he could swear that the curve and thin line of a particulr pair of lips reminded him  of him and he'd shake his head sligtly, believing it to be simply a dream (because that's all he's been reverted to, _right_?).  
  
Those times were the times that he'd be too far in to  be pulled out and Pepper ( _really, she's a goddess_ ) would send him home. He'd hear her faintly whisper to Happy to take him home and make sure he was okay. He'd never properly hear it, the cotton in his ear would prevent. But he'd let himself be ushered, the lines of his body tense and too rigid to be comfortable.  
  
And when he'd get into the comforts of his own home, his clothing stripped from his body, another glass of scotch in his hand to be left undrunk, and standing overlooking the New York, sometimes he'd swear he'd feel a gust of wind press against his lips in the semblance of a kiss.  
  
Sometimes, he'd cry silently.


End file.
